When I'm Dreaming
by misanthrope1
Summary: A Hero comes to realize a few pecularities about himself. Warning! Mature themes, homosexuality AN: This story came about due to a discussion on HH forums. RAF Flight Lieutenant equals Captain in US ranks/ Flying Officer equals Lieutenant
1. Chapter 1

Flight Lieuetenant Wesley Danvers gritted his teeth as his plane bucked around him. The Mosquito's cockpit reeked of smoke and burning wood. The engine whined, quickly turning to a scream and Danvers yelled at his navigator. "Will! Will! Damn it, Will, what is going on?" He already had a pretty good idea. The Jerries' planes had scrambled too damn fast and the anti-aircraft fire had lit the skies to a dusty tan green. It also highlighted the rain lashing down on all the aircraft, friend and foe alike. Danvers nimbly dodged a Messerschmidt and another hail of bullets rattled his craft. His Mossie quaked and Danvers cursed loudly. "Will!"

"Just get her down." The Flying Officer's voice sounded weak and Danvers cursed again, stomach clenching and mouth drying. The last hit must have gotten Will as well. He risked a glance backwards but saw little.

"How bad are you, Will?"

"Bad enough. Damn, Wes, this hurts."

"I'll bring her down. Hang on."

"Righto."

Danvers used every skill he had, guiding his beloved plane to the safest landing he could. Flames licked his hands and bullets cracked against the outside of the Mosquito. Tree branches slapped the sides, echoing like a whip, and the instruments jumped violently. With a growl and a yank that wrenched every muscle in his upper body, Danvers turned the plane and it skidded through the dirt. It whumped the ground, bumping and skipping. The right wing snapped off and Danvers hissed. "Come on, baby, not much more."

The plane wallowed to a rest in a huge thicket and Danvers shinned out. Pain shot up his legs and his shoulders ached yet he ignored it. "Will!"

"I'm here."

Danvers shook. Flying Officer William Wilcox laid in the wreckage of the Mosquito. Smoke and a coppery aroma of blood filled the air, covering the scent of wet vegetation and mud. Charred wood broke as Danvers pulled Wilcox and the man cried out. "Shh. Please be still," Danvers whispered. "This place will be crawling with Jerries in a minute."

"Wes, my leg..."

"I'll help. Come on."

The rain poured down as the two hobbled deep into the scrub. Danvers kept his arm tight around Will's waist. To his credit, the navigator whimpered only once, then hopped along stoically. Danvers half carried Wilcox to a large tree. There he eased Wilcox to the ground, biting his lip as he caught sight of Will's shattered leg. "Catch your breath," Danvers whispered. "Will, I am so bloody sorry."

"For what, the Krauts?" Wilcox managed a pained smile. "You need to run, Wes."

Danvers snorted, sat down, and gingerly wrapped his arms around Wilcox. "Rest," he ordered. "I'm not leaving you."

"The Kauts don't need both of us."

"We've already talked about this. I'm not leaving. Not now. Not ever."

"Ah, you're so romantic." Wilcox weakly punched Danvers' shoulder.

"Just rest. I'll keep watch."


	2. Chapter 2

Newkirk stood over the pair of downed fliers, shivering in the rain. "Mate, we need to go," he urged.

"I already told you I'm not leaving." The RAF pilot looked up at Newkirk, blue grey eyes narrow. "You can leave."

"Wes, go." The other RAF man feebly pushed at his Flight Lieuetenant. Newkirk swallowed hard. The dim light of his flashlight only conveyed part of the horror the RAF Flying Officer was suffering. Bone jutted through of his trousers and the uneven rasping the man was doing told Newkirk there was most likely internal problems. An acrid smell of burned flesh and coppery blood filled the air. The Flight Lieuetenant clasped the other man close to his chest.

"No." The Flight Lieuetenant bent his head. He murmured something and the battered Flying Officer gave a weak smile.

"How about we get somewhere drier, mates?" Newkirk gestured. "There's a cave nearby. I'll help carry him."

"I'm dying." The wounded man breathed heavily. "There's no use in moving me."

"Will, it'll be all right," the Flight Lieuetenant said softly. He stood, lifting the other man in his arms. Newkirk raised an eyebrow. That took some raw strength. The Flight Lieuetenant jerked his head and Newkirk picked a path to the cave. Wind whistled around them, rattling the trees. The pilot staggered after Newkirk. Fortunately the small cave wasn't far. Newkirk hastily explored the dusty cavern and the other man lurched in. He knelt, carefully placing the injured Flying Officer on the ground. Newkirk averted his gaze. His flashlight now clearly revealed the extensive damage the man had suffered. Splotches of blood darkened the uniform and burnt fragments of cloth fluttered to the cave floor. Newkirk shook his head. The dark haired Flying Officer smiled grimly.

"That bad, huh?"

"Just need a few bandages," Newkirk said.

"I'm Flying Officer Wilcox. This is Flight Lieuetenant Danvers. Will and he's Wesley." Wilcox gasped and then coughed. Blood splattered his lips and Danvers handed him a handkerchief. "Sir, go with him."

"No." The Flight Lieuetenant pulled out another kerchief and began wrapping the shattered tibia.

"Corporal Newkirk. Look, Flight Lieuetenant, I understand your loyalty," Newkirk said slowly. "My orders are to bring you to safety."

"You have." Danvers looked up. "I won't leave him."

Newkirk twitched. "Flight Lieuetenant, sir..."

Ragged coughing interrupted him. Wilcox retched and Danvers pulled the man close to him. He pressed Wilcox's head into his shoulder. When the spasm ended, Wilcox's eyes were closed and his breath came in long, high pitched whines. Danvers cradled him. "Don't leave me, Will," Danvers whispered. "I need you." His hands trembled.

Newkirk bit his lip. He honestly didn't know what to do. He dare not leave the pair behind--the Germans were never far away--yet how could he move the badly injured Flying Officer to Stalag 13? He could leave and come back with more people, maybe even Wilson, but part of him knew Wilcox would never last that long.

"Why don't you go?" Newkirk jerked. Danvers watched him. "I appreciate your help," the Flight Lieuetenant said quietly. "But I won't leave and you shouldn't be caught." His fingers twisted in Wilcox's uniform.

"No disrespect, sir." Newkirk pitched his voice low. "But the Flying Officer--he's not quite--he's bad off, sir."

"I know." Danvers glanced down at the man in his arms. Newkirk handed him a canteen and Danvers cautiously poured a little down Wilcox's throat. "Thank you."

"No problem. Been together awhile?"

Danvers nodded. "Will and I have been flying together since the war started. He's the best navigator I know." Calloused fingers traced a line down Wilcox's cheek.

"I'm sorry," Newkirk lamely said.

Wilcox gasped and Danvers bent his head over him. Newkirk squatted. Danvers' lean fingers straightened Wilcox's hair, cupped his head. "Wes..." Wilcox whimpered.

"Here, love." Newkirk jerked. Flight Lieuetenant Danvers drew his lips over Wilcox's forehead.

"Hurts." Wilcox whispered.

"I know. I'm right here, Will."

"Been good huh?"

"Couldn't ask for better."

Wilcox burrowed closer and Danvers began rocking slowly back and forth, holding the man. Newkirk twitched. "It isn't contagious, Corporal," Danvers said.

Newkirk shrugged. "Not worried about that, mate. You're not the first poof I've met although I didn't think your kind would be a pilot."

The Flight Lieuetenant twisted his neck, eyes sparking. "My kind? I'm British, Corporal, just like you." Danvers studied him. "And the term poof is more than offensive to me."

"Sorry, sir. I don't know what name---"

"Flight Lieuetenant Danvers is fine." Newkirk sat, back to the cold stone.

"Travelled with a circus awhile. There were some people who were like you, um--well, they were good people. A few called themselves poofs. Guess I never thought much about it." Newkirk looked at the Flight Lieuetenant curiously.

"We're people, Corporal."

"Guess I just like birds too much," Newkirk joked.

The Flight Lieuetenant sighed. "Will was engaged when we met."

"Engaged? But..." Newkirk gestured helplessly to Wilcox.

"I don't hate women. Nor does Will."

Newkirk rubbed his hands. "Sorry, mate."

Danvers stroked Wilcox's dark brown hair. "We met at Oxford," he said quietly. "I can't imagine life without him now."

"Oxford? Should have known you were a toff," Newkirk said. To his surprise, Danvers chuckled.

"Will called me that. I was, a bit, I guess." He grinned. "Circus folk?"

"I did get out and about." Newkirk watched Danvers' hands as his long fingers hypnotically kept a steady caressing of Wilcox's hair. Wilcox breathed slowly, shallowly. After a long while, Newkirk straightened. He walked to the still rocking Flight Lieuetenant. "Flight Lieuetenant," he softly said. "Flight Lieuetenant Danvers, he's gone, sir." The Flight Lieuetenant ignored him. Tears streamed down his cheeks yet he was silent, still stroking Wilcox's hair. Newkirk laid a hand on Danvers' shoulder. "We have to go," Newkirk urged. "He's gone, mate."

"He's my life. What will I do without him?"

The words were quiet but ached with emotion. Newkirk clumsily squeezed the man's shoulder. "Come on," he urged. "We have to leave and now."

"I can't leave him."

"Look, we 'aven't time. I'm sorry you lost him but the Krauts are going to be searching and we have to go. Now, come on." Newkirk grasped Danvers' arm and pulled him to his feet. The Flight Lieuetenant resisted for a heartbeat then yielded. He stood about the same height as Colonel Hogan and Newkirk noted his uniform, too,bore blotches of blood. "Are you hurt?" The incredulous look he received made him inwardly wince. "Come on."

Flight Lieuetenant Danvers knelt down, gently closed his friend's eyes. He straightened the body, took a few items from the Flying Officer's pockets, and then stood again. He followed Newkirk silently, so silently Newkirk had to look over his shoulder a few times to make sure the pilot was still there. After the fourth time, the Flight Lieuetenant said softly "I'm still here. Stop worrying."

"We'll get you back to London in less than a fortnight, Flight Lieuetenant."

"No need to hurry."

"Look, I'm right sorry about the Flying Officer and all, I mean, what I said."

"I was the pilot."

Newkirk twitched and turned around. "You can't blame yourself." Danvers stared at him with dull eyes. Newkirk swallowed. He turned down a narrow deer path, Danvers a breath behind. Newkirk glanced at him again, headed for the tree trunk. He slid inside, the other man behind him. Rain dripped down behind them as Danvers closed the trunk. Newkirk jumped down the ladder. "Whew. Bit drier here, sir."

Danvers nodded. "Thank you, Corporal."

"Anytime. Come on, let me introduce you to Colonel Hogan."

Colonel Hogan came around the corner. "Newkirk. Good to see you. I was starting to get worried." He smiled. "See you found a friend."

"Flight Lieuetenant Danvers, sir." Danvers saluted crisply. Hogan returned the salute.

"At ease, Flight Lieuetenant. You wouldn't be Wesley Danvers, would you?"

"Yes, sir."

Hogan raised an eyebrow. "You've done impressive work."

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Colonel."

"I've heard your name mentioned several times. You and Wilcox have quite a reputation."

Newkirk flinched and Danvers dropped his gaze. "Thank you," Danvers said quietly.

Hogan glanced at Newkirk. "We'll get you some food, a bunk, and hopefully send you on to London in a few days ."

"Thank you."

"I'll show him to the bunk, Colonel."

"Thanks, Newkirk."

Newkirk showed Danvers to the bunk. "We'll get you some dry clothes, Flight Lieuetenant."

"Thank you." Danvers sat on the cot. He shoved back his blond hair.

"Get some rest, Flight Lieuetenant." Newkirk bit his lip. "Sorry about your--partner. I didn't know him but he wanted you safe."

"I know. Thanks." Danvers smiled slightly.

"I'll get some coffee."

"That'd be great."


	3. Chapter 3

Hogan met Newkirk at the coffee pot. "Problems?" he asked in a low tone.

"Wilcox didn't make it." Newkirk looked at his Colonel. "The Flight Lieuetenant and Wilcox were close."

Hogan sighed. "Damn."

"He was bad off, gov. Broken leg, burns, internal damage, too, I think. We rested in that small cave near Mueller's farm. Wilcox's body is there."

"He was alive?"

"That's what took me so long. Flight Lieuetenant Danvers wouldn't leave him." Newkirk poured a mug of coffee, handed it to Hogan, then poured one for Danvers.

"Get some for yourself. It'll be roll call soon." Hogan studied his coffee. "Sorry, Newkirk." He clasped Newkirk's shoulder.

"Thanks, gov." Newkirk rubbed his eyes. "It wasn't pretty."

"After roll call, get some sleep."

Newkirk smiled at his CO. "Yes, sir." He took the coffee to Danvers. The man sat on the bunk, staring into space. Newkirk slid the cup into the Flight Lieuetenant's limp hands.

"Thank you again."

"I'll get you some dry clothes."

"I have some." Carter came into view. "Here, sir."

"Thank you."

"I'm Sargeant Carter."

"Flight Lieuetenant Danvers."

"I also have extra blankets."

"Thank you."

"Come on, Carter, let's get ready for roll call," Newkirk said, noting Danvers was staring into his coffee. "Good night, mate."

"Good night, Corporal."

Newkirk steered Carter out of the alcove. "Gosh, Newkirk, is he all right?" Carter muttered.

"He 'ad a rough time, Carter."

After roll call, Newkirk flopped on his bunk. When he woke, it was to a rich aroma of soup and LeBeau's muttering. "What's wrong, LeBeau?"

"Stuck up pilots."

"Flight Lieuetenant Danvers?" Newkirk blurted. "He's all right."

"Bah. Spend hours making food and he refuses to eat. Even the filthy Boche know good food. But the English?"

"'Ere, now, Louie, Danvers is all right. He just lost his best mate."

"He still has to eat."

Newkirk sighed and hopped off his bunk. "I'll take some to him," he said.

"You? You eat."

"Where is everyone?"

"Colonel Hogan is trying to figure out how to get the pilot back, Kinch is outside playing ball and watching the compound, and Carter is in the tunnels."

Newkirk yawned, ate a bowl of soup and bread, and then took some into the tunnels. The briefest whiff of sulfer eddied to him. "Carter and his ruddy chemicals," Newkirk muttered. "Flight Lieuetenant Danvers?" The Flight Lieuetenant sat on his cot, staring into space like the night before. "I brought you something to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Just soup. All you have to do is swallow. Even have a spot of tea for you."

Danvers looked at him and nodded listlessly. "Thank you," he said wearily. He aimlessly stirred the soup then took several spoonfuls. Newkirk left him and went to see Carter.

"What a bleedin' stench, Carter!"

"Sorry, Newkirk!" Carter grinned at him. "What are you doing here?"

"Delivering lunch to Danvers."

"He's really quiet, isn't he? I tried to talk to him but he just kind of stared. I even offered him the last of the coffee but he said no."

"I told you he 'ad a rough time."

"The Colonel talked to him some but I don't think he even talked to him, not really. What happened?"

"He lost his best friend, had to watch him die."

"Ouch. That's horrible!"

"I know."

Newkirk felt a dreadful hollowness when he saw the Flight Lieuetenant late that night. The pilot simply didn't respond well to any of the men, answering in monosyllables or in erratic sentenances. Even Colonel Hogan's flying comradery didn't score a hit and Newkirk couldn't remember a time when his Colonel's charm utterly failed. Colonel Hogan sent Newkirk an inquiring look and Newkirk gave a tiny shrug.

The next morning at roll call, a large truck rolled in, its engine a low growl in the dark predawn. "Gestapo?" Kinch guessed.

"No markings," Hogan muttered.

"Abwher," LeBeau pointed to a decorated officer who emerged from the car.

"What's in the truck?" Carter asked.

Two sargeants pulled a stretcher out of the truck, carrying a shrouded form. "Oh, no," Newkirk muttered. "Please don't be..."

"Newkirk, are you sure Wilcox died?"

"No doubt, gov."

"Let's get to the coffee pot," Hogan said.

Colonel Klink's fawning tones came in loud and clear. "It's an honor, Major Heise."

"Your camp was the closest, Kommandant."

"May I ask what you have?"

"It is no secret. The body of a RAF airman was found in a nearby cave Our pilots brought down a British Mosquito a few nights ago. We're searching for the other airman as we speak."

"Excellent. Stalag 13 is at your disposal."

"Good. We could use a few of your dogs and guards to aid our search."

"Of course, of course! What will you do with the body?"

"The Gestapo will search it for any information. Then they will dispose of it." Newkirk winced. "We will coordinate with you about the search. We will scouring the woods for the next several days."

"We are at your disposal. Anything to help the Abwher!"

Hogan frowned. "That's not good. Kinch, tell London we're down for a few days."

"Yes, Colonel."

"We have that train to blow, Colonel," Carter reminded.

"I know, Carter. We also have Flight Lieuetenant Danvers to get out."

"That one," LeBeau sniffed.

"Problems?" Hogan asked.

"He is just a cold fish," LeBeau said with a shrug. "He does not want to eat, does not to talk. Bah. I am surprised London wants him."

"He's not the most sociable," Kinch agreed.

"He lost his best friend," Newkirk snapped. "Give him a break!"

"Huh. You simply defend him because he is English."

Newkirk glared at LeBeau. "Right, because I've defended every Englishman who has come through here."

"Name one you have not."

"Crittendon."

"Touche," LeBeau acknowledged.

"Enough," Hogan said. "His personality isn't our concern. We just need to get him home. Carter, are we set for bombs for the train?"

"You bet! I've got them all set with timed detonators."

"Good. Make up some smoke bombs, will you?"  
"Sure."

"Kinch, LeBeau, keep an eye on that Major, will you? Pump the guards."

"Sure, sir."

"Oui, mon Colonel."

"Newkirk, check our Abwehr uniforms."

"No problem, gov."

"I'm going to talk to Flight Lieuetenant Danvers. I'm wondering if there isn't more to his being shot down than we know."

"Good luck," Carter cheerily said.

"You think he's a traitor?" Kinch asked.

"I don't know. He's just not reacting like he should. Kinch, have Wilson check him out."

"Sure."

"He's just a bit down," Newkirk argued. "Come on, I'd like to think my mates might mourn some for me if I got killed."

"Sure we would," Carter said in a shocked tone.

"We would miss you greatly." LeBeau patted Newkirk's arm.

"At least for an hour or so," Kinch jested.

Newkirk glanced at Hogan who appeared deep in thought. "Gov?"

"Sorry, Newkirk, I was wondering where I'd go to get another you. The Tower of London?"

"That's where noble prisoners go," Newkirk sniffed. "I'm not a toff, mate."

"Colonel Hogan!" Schultz opened the door to Colonel Hogan's office. "The Kommandant wants you and your men in his office now."

"Hey! Knock, Schultz!" Kinch said.

"Really," Carter agreed. "It's just rude to barge in."

"The Germans have no manners," LeBeau complained.

"Now!" Schultz ordered.

"In a minute, Schultz," Hogan said.

"Nein! You are needed now. The Kommandant says this is urgent!"

"All right, all right. Come on, men," Hogan said. "Let's see what our glorious Kommandant needs."

-------

"Cleaning? You have urgent cleaning?!" Hogan stared at Klink.

"I need LeBeau to cook and Newkirk to serve. The others can clean the office and my quarters. We have unexpected guests."

"And how is that my concern?" Hogan snorted.

"If I don't look good, it will be very hard for you, Hogan. Besides, there will be extra lights and hot water for a week."

"Three weeks."

"Two and not a day more!"

"Oh, all right!" Hogan gestured to his men. "LeBeau, hit the kitchen. The rest of you clean."


	4. Chapter 4

It was just after 1200 hours when the men returned to the barracks. Hogan gestured to Newkirk and Carter and the three headed down into the tunnels. Hogan headed for the 'guest area', Carter and Newkirk tagging along. Hogan rounded a corner and swore, breaking into a run. Newkirk leapt behind him. Flight Lieuetenant Danvers had Private Trenton against the wall, an arm against his throat. "At ease, Flight Lieuetenant!" Hogan yelled.

"Of course, Colonel." Danvers stepped back. Trenton exhaled.

"What is going on?"  
"The private and I were discussing manners." Danvers turned an emotionless face to Hogan.

"Trenton?"

The burly private rubbed his throat. "It was a disagreement. Sir."

"About what?" Colonel Hogan's voice was steel.

"I mentioned the corpse and that it was going to the Gestapo." Trenton rubbed his throat again. "Schultz said the Abwher guards mentioned dissection. The Flight Lieuetenant here went a little nuts."

"You fail to mention your remarks about skinning and what RAF stands for," Danvers said.

"It was a joke!"

"Private, go back to your barracks. We'll discuss this later." Hogan watched the private slink off.

"Is it true? They have Will's body?" Danvers' voice was low.

"It may be true," Hogan said coldly. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking of my navigator's body being mutilated," Danvers snapped. "He deserves better."

"You're right, he deserves better. Unfortunately, what he deserves and what his corpse will receive are two different things. He's dead. The body feels nothing." Hogan's stony voice didn't soften.

"He was_ my_ man, Colonel. If one of your men were killed, I wonder if you would be so blase."

"It's wartime, Flight Lieuetenant. Men die. I'm sorry Wilcox died. Now the best way to honor him is to get back to London and get back in the sky to continue the fight."

Danvers' lips quirked into a tiny, humorless smile. "Continue the fight," he murmured. "Whatever you say, Colonel."

Colonel Hogan minutely relaxed. Newkirk and Carter exchanged glances. Hogan looked at them. "You can start your tasks," he suggested.

"Yes, sir."

Bothered by bits of dreams and nightmare fragments, Newkirk avoided Flight Lieuetenant Danvers and pretty much everyone for the next two days. Late the second night, a sleepless Newkirk snuck away from his sleeping friends to check on Danvers. He wasn't surprised to find the pilot awake and reading. Danvers looked up as he neared. "Are you all right?"

"I'm all right." Danvers gave him a small smile. "Thank you, Corporal."

"We 'ope to have you out in a few nights." Newkirk restlessly rubbed his palm with his thumb.

"Thanks. I'm sure you'll be glad to see me go."

Newkirk shrugged, stepping closer. "You haven't been a problem. The others just--well, Colonal Hogan does have a good ear."

"And what do I tell him, Corporal?" Danvers gave Newkirk another tiny, wintry smile. "That Will was more than just my friend?"

Newkirk looked at the floor. "Sorry. It must be ruddy hard, that."

"It is."

"How did you--never mind."

"You've been very circumspect. Thank you."

"No problem. Like I said, I've met others before."

"The circus."

Newkirk smiled. "Mandy, the horse trainer and her friend Rosa. Plus two of the burliest roadies I ever met." He glanced at Danvers. "'Ow you get the drop on Trenton? He's a bit heavier than you. Fast, too."

"I had commando training." Danvers looked closer at Newkirk. "You seem upset."

"I haven't thought of the circus in awhile. They were good people." Newkirk twitched. "I will be glad you'll be 'ome." He stood up, paced a few strides, unconciously mimicking Colonel Hogan.

"What's the problem, Newkirk?"

"No problem." Newkirk eyed the blond Flight Lieuetenant again. "I just get a bit edgy, being locked up. I like to roam."

"You look tired."

"You try staying up all night and day, fooling the Krauts."

"Why haven't you gone home?"

"I 'ave a job here, mates to watch over. Leave this to the Colonel, a couple of bleeding Yanks and a Frenchman? They're all ruddy daft. They'd be lost without me."

Danvers tilted his head in a manner reminiscent of Colonel Hogan. "What are your friends like?"

"Besides being balmy? They're my mates. The best."

"Carter?"

"He's flipping crazy about his bombs but he knows his stuff."

"LeBeau?"

"He's good. Cooks great and it's nice to talk to someone who isn't a Yank now and then."

"I haven't seen Kinch much."

"Poor Kinch. He has the worst job in the world, running herd on us. Terrific radioman, level headed."

Danvers smiled. "And Hogan?"

Newkirk chuckled. "I could tell you tales of the governor! Hogan may be an officer but he's the best."

"Tales?"

Newkirk leaned against the wall. For the next hour, he told of Colonel Hogan, quick little vignettes that disclosed Hogan's quirky intelligence and courage while revealing no 'need to know' information. Danvers watched intently, leaning forward slightly. The beeping of Newkirk's watch interrupted him. "Blimey! I have to run. Roll call in ten. Didn't think it was that late. Or early."

"Thanks for stopping by." Danvers stretched. "Let me know if I can help in any way."

"You wouldn't speak German, would you?" Newkirk joked.

"Just a few phrases." Danvers grinned.

"Pity. You look the part of a perfect Aryan."

"Bite your tongue."

Newkirk chuckled and hopped up the ladder. "That's where you've been hiding," Kinch mumbled sleepily. "Roll call?"

"In five. I'll start the coffee."

"Not you," Olson yawned. "You make sludge."

"Have to wake up somehow."

LeBeau shoved Newkirk aside. "I'll make it," he grumbled. "Is Colonel Hogan awake?"

"I'll get him," Newkirk said. He knocked and slipped inside the room. "Colonel?"

"Morning already?" Hogan muttered.

"Sorry, gov."

Hogan shrugged and stood. He drowsily dressed and pulled on his boots. Newkirk held open the door. LeBeau handed both of them a mug of coffee. "Morning, men," Hogan said after a quick swallow. "Where's Schultz?"

"Heading this way," Carter said.

"What were you doing?" Kinch asked Newkirk quietly. "In the tunnels."

"Just checking up on our guest."

"He all right?"

"Just bored."

The morning was spent in planning the train mission. Newkirk hid his weariness as much as he could. He hadn't slept well since he'd brought Danvers in and it was starting to tell. "Newkirk?"

"Gov?"

Hogan sighed. "Go get some rest, Newkirk."

"I'm fine."

"Go. I need you sharp tonight. Heise pulled most of his patrols but we'll have to watch it."

"All right, Colonel."


	5. Chapter 5

Newkirk crawled into his bunk and tried to sleep. Colorful images flowed and melded into bizarre pictures and Newkirk woke with sweat trickling down his back. He shoved his fingers through his hair, feeling perspiration dampening his hair as well. "You all right, Newkirk?" Carter asked.

"Huh?"  
"You look like you saw a ghost."

"Fine," Newkirk snapped. He hopped off the bunk. "I'll check the uniforms for tonight."

"We're attacking a train, Newkirk. We'll be wearing blacks."

"Might need uniforms too." Newkirk opened the bunk and scrambled down the ladder. He hurried to find Danvers. The pilot strode the tunnels, obviously antsy. He grinned at Newkirk.

"Hello, Corporal."

Newkirk had him against the wall in a breath. Danvers' eyes opened wide and Newkirk grabbed the Flight Lieuetenant's shirtfront. "What did you do?" he snarled.

"What?"  
"What did you do to me?!"  
Danvers shook his head then placed his hands on Newkirk's chest and pushed. "Get off!" Braced, Newkirk didn't move. "What are you talking about?"

"You did something to me!"

"What?"

"I'm NOT interested in blokes!!"  
Danvers jerked and stared at him. "I don't understand."

Newkirk gave the pilot a hard shake. "What did you do?! I never had these ruddy dreams until I met you! I'm not a bleedin' poof!"

Comprehension filled the pilot's face. "Let me go, Newkirk," he quietly said. "I'll try to help."

Newkirk released Danvers, hands trembling. Danvers exhaled and reached out to clasp Newkirk's shoulder. Newkirk struck his hand aside. "I'm not like you!"

"Newkirk, I'm trying to help." The other man's voice was maddeningly calm.

"So what is it?"

Danvers snorted. "Interest in a member of the same sex doesn't mean necessarily mean you're homosexual." Newkirk recoiled. "It's a word, Corporal."

"Keep those words down, all right?"

"If I'm correct, you've had dreams."

"Worse than that. Just 'ow did you make them happen? How did you make these feelings?"

"Can we sit down?"

"It's bleedin' wrong, that's what it is! It's not natural, it's perverted..."

"Calm yourself," Danvers snapped. "It's not common, no, but it's not wrong. It's just different. First, you never had any feelings like this before?" Newkirk stared at the floor.

"I like women," he muttered.

Danvers rubbed his temples. "If--and that's debateable--you are homosexual, it simply is. Fighting and ranting won't help. And by the way, many homosexual men like women. Some people like both. Lord Byron shifted beds and partners of both sexes as easily as breathing."

"I'm not Lord Bryon!"

"I'm just trying to help. I can't distill everything I know into a few flipping words and soothe your soul! It took me a long time to adjust."

"How do you get rid of it?"

"You can't. It simply is, Corporal. People are different." Danvers shrugged.

"Easy for you to say. You come from money."

"I do. And no, it's not easy. Will and I had to hide our relationship."

"Bloody hell. Look, forget it, all right? Dreams don't mean a ruddy thing." Newkirk wheeled to leave.

"Burying it doesn't destroy it," Danvers said quiet. "Believe me, I know a lot of people who've tried and it just gets worse."

Newkirk made a choking noise. "You better be wrong." he said, looking over his shoulder. Melancholy filled Danvers' face.

"Good luck."

Newkirk turned fully to face the Flight Lieuetenant. "I told you I met a few in the circus." Danvers nodded. "They were with the circus for a reason."

"Which was?"

"It's where freaks go."


	6. Chapter 6

Newkirk walked to uniform storage. There he stitched a few tears in uniforms, thinking all the while. _Now what? I can't be a bleeding poof! I'm not like that! I like women! I've been with a few women. I'm not a dandy. And what will I do? My old mates will ruddy kill me. Literally. What am I thinking? My new mates will kill me! What do I do? And why __**him**__?_

"Newkirk?"

Colonel Hogan jumped back as his English corporal spun around, eyes wide and shocked. "Ruddy hell, Colonel!"

"What's wrong?"

"Besides you scaring me out of my skin?"

"Why are you so jittery?"

"I didn't hear you." Newkirk swallowed visibly. "Warn a chap, huh?"

"Sorry." Hogan laid a hand on Newkirk's shoulder. To his surprise, he felt Newkirk tense. "All right, what's going on?"

"Just a few nightmares, gov. I'm restless but fine."

Hogan eyed Newkirk. His corporal trembled and avoided his gaze. "Newkirk, do you need to talk?"

Newkirk looked directly at Hogan. "Nothing to say, mate. I'm all right."

Hogan nodded slowly. Newkirk turned back to his sewing and Hogan left. He walked down the tunnel to where Flight Lieuetenant Danvers read a book. "Hello, Colonel."

"Bored, Flight Lieuetenant?"

"You could say that. I do appreciate all the risks you and your men are taking."

"All part of the job." He nodded to the book in Danvers' hand. "Good read?"

"Poetry. It was Will's. He loved to read, carried it everywhere."

"They took his corpse out today," Hogan said. Danvers nodded, lips tightening.

"Off to be chopped apart for the Jerries' amusement." Danvers stroked the book cover.

Hogan poured a cup of coffee, sipped it slowly. "He meant a lot to you."

"More than anyone could guess."

Hogan looked at the RAF Flight Lieuetenant. The pilot had been rather withdrawn and silent, almost stuporous but Hogan spotted flashes of a quick wit. "When you get back to London, you can perhaps visit Lt. Wilcox's family."

"I will. It's the least I can do."

Hogan smiled. "My men been treating you all right?"

Danvers grinned. "They're crackerjack men."

"Just don't let them know." Hogan drank deeply. "They've been talking themselves up?"

"Not a bit. Newkirk popped by and talked to me but he was talking you and his mates up. Carter did the same thing. Frankly, Colonel, I feel rather inadequate in comparsion."

Hogan actually chuckled. "I have to up their pay. Or have them checked for fever."

"Colonel?"

Hogan turned. Kinch stood. "Evening roll call, sir."

"On my way. Newkirk and Carter up yet?"

"Carter is. Newkirk is fixing uniforms."

"Get him and let's go. See you later, Danvers."

"I'll be here."

After roll call, Hogan gathered his men for final instructions on the mission. They'd all go out, leaving Baker to man the radio. Hogan glanced at each one, noting Newkirk looked composed. Good. He didn't need any of his men erratic. "Let's go," Hogan said.

Yelling woke Flight Lieuetenant Danvers.

_"Damn it, Newkirk, what were you thinking?!"_

_"I was covering our ruddy bums! Sir."  
"And you nearly got killed!"_

_"Gov'nor, I knew what I was doing."_

_"Try sticking to the planned mission, will you? Stop improvising!"_

_"Sorry. Sir."_

_"Get stitched up, all right?"_

_"Yes, sir."_

Danvers watched Newkirk slink off. He rolled off the bunk soundlessly, pacing to where Colonel Hogan stood , staring at the wall. "Colonel?"

"Flight Lieuetenant. I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"Not at all, sir. I was walking the tunnels and just saw Newkirk pass by."

Hogan nodded absently. Danvers stood silently for a moment. "We should be able to get you out in two nights," Hogan said abruptly.

"Thank you."

Hogan finally looked at him and gave a wry grin. "You are one of the politest people we've ever had."

"My mother will be thrilled to hear that."

"Your parents. Beverly and Colin Danvers, correct?"

Danvers raised both eyebrows. "You know them?"

"We met a few times. I was a guest of General Hines."

Danvers nodded thoughtfully. "Henry Hines. He's a bit of a salty curmudgeon."

Hogan chuckled. "That's a good description."

"I actually somewhat liked the irascible chap."

"So do I."

Hogan grinned. "Want some coffee?"

"Don't suppose you have any tea?"

"Coming up."


	7. Chapter 7

"Newkirk, you and Carter take Flight Lieuetenant Danvers to the rendezvous tonight."

"You got it, gov." Newkirk lit a cigarette.

"Be careful." Hogan looked at Newkirk closely. "You'll be okay with this?"

"'Course. Why wouldn't I?"

"You've been brooding."

Newkirk looked surprised. "Not brooding," he protested. "Thinking."

"Anything I should know about?"

"No, nothing." Newkirk hastily straightened up. "I'll let Carter know."

"All right." Colonel Hogan looked compassionately at his Englishman. "Peter, are you sure there's nothing bugging you?"

Newkirk took a step forward then stopped_. Nothing you--or anyone--can help with_. "I'll think about it, gov. Thanks." He avoided Hogan's gaze, left quickly. _Good work, Peter. That'll work. Tell a ruddy officer your secrets. What the hell are you thinking?!_

The dropoff went easily. Danvers whispered "Thanks again, chaps. Be careful." He shook Carter's hand, did the same for Newkirk. Then he darted off with the Underground. Newkirk and Carter headed back to camp. Newkirk didn't realize how quiet Carter was until they were back in the tunnel and Carter cleared his throat. He jerked at the sound.

"You okay, Newkirk?"

"Course." Newkirk glanced at his friend. Carter shifted weight from foot to foot. "Why?"

"You've been kinda down for awhile. Well, not really down but thoughtful. I mean, like you've been mulling something over. Like my uncle. He'd been quiet for a couple weeks and here all this time he'd just think and think...."

"Carter, I'm fine. Thanks for worrying." Newkirk smiled.

"OK."

In his bunk, Newkirk opened the note Danvers had given him.

_Newkirk,_

_Here are the names and addresses of people I know. When you're home again, look them up . Tell them you were my friend. All of them have been where you are. They can help. I wish you the best. Good luck._

_Wesley_

Newkirk glanced at the names and addresses. Carefully he folded the note and placed it securely with his letters from Mavis and Elizabeth. _It could be useful. Could I be a homosexual? I can't be this way. I mean, those circus days are long gone. But the way I'm feeling... So now what do I do? I don't dare tell. What if I slip up? I wish I never met Danvers! It's his fault, showing me that people can live with this. I guess I could always return to the circus, join the other oddities. _

-----------

"Colonel?" Colonel Hogan lifted his head. LeBeau stood in the doorway, looking nervous. "Can I speak to you privately?"

"Sure, LeBeau. Come in and close the door." Hogan closed his book. LeBeau carefully closed the door and walked to the table. "Have a seat."

"Merci." LeBeau picked at the table. Hogan patiently waited. "Mon Colonel, I am worried about Newkirk."

Hogan raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"It is hard to explain. He is--" LeBeau frowned. "He is behaving--odd. He" LeBeau waved a hand back and forth. "He is twitchy? Is that the word? He seems fine and then he gets angry then morose. It's like there is always something here." He tapped his head. "Always thinking on something. I would not be so concerned but he has been doing this for over six weeks. He spent part of yesterday staring at the trees. I have asked if something is bothering him but he just says no."

Hogan frowned. "He has been a bit broody at that." He tapped his pencil on the table. "Thanks, LeBeau. I'll see what I can find out."

"Merci, mon Colonel. And please, do not tell him I have talked to you."

"I won't."

LeBeau left and Hogan pushed his hands through his hair. LeBeau made number four. Carter, Kinch, and Mills had all come forward, worried about Newkirk. Frankly, Hogan was at a loss. Newkirk fluctuated between being perfectly Newkirk to being silent for days at a time. Hogan also wasn't so busy he missed Newkirk's hit and miss sleeping habits. Having similar problems himself, he wondered what Newkirk wrestled with so many nights. When London kept them busy, Newkirk was himself, complaining but giving everything he had. When a lull came, like now, Newkirk pulled into his shell. He did his chores, attended the intensive training classes, and otherwise stuck to himself. Everyone had quickly learned to leave him alone. Hogan sighed. He wasn't an Agony Aunt but he wanted his men to come to him with problems, especially his command crew_. And that's what bugs you. He doesn't trust you enough to tell you what's obviously upsetting him. Then again, he doesn't trust anyone else either. And that's the main point. We trust each other with our lives. What can be so important that Newkirk won't tell anyone_?

A nagging part of Hogan wondered if someone had gotten to Newkirk, if he wasn't being pressured. The pencil snapped in Hogan's fingers. He wouldn't believe Newkirk or any of his men would betray them. Yet he had to find out what was wrong. He wondered if the next day's Red Cross delivery would cheer up his Brit.

The smell of coffee, cookies, and chocolate filled the barracks. Hogan breathed in the rich scents and grinned at his men. LeBeau smiled at Hogan. "Did you have a good day mon Colonel?"

"Three letters, I did great." Hogan looked around. "Where's Newkirk?"

"Playing poker with the guards," Kinch said absently, deep in a letter.

"That was quick."

"Payday," Olsen said.

Hogan nodded. Newkirk returned later in the afternoon, eating a chocolate bar. "Good game?" Carter asked.

"Not bad," Newkirk shrugged. He hopped on his bunk and pulled a paperback novel from his pocket.

"What are you reading?" Kinch asked.

"Mystery novel."

"I did not know you liked mysteries," LeBeau said.

"Well, you don't know everything about me." Newkirk pulled the book close. LeBeau and Carter exchanged baffled looks. Hogan cocked his head thoughtfully. LeBeau shot him a _See?_ look.

"It's in German," Olson said.

"And?"

"You can't read German, Newkirk," Olson said with exaggerated patience. Newkirk squinted at him.

"I can do more than you bleeding think, Olson. I can speak it, I can read it."

Olson frowned. "I just meant..."

"The coffee is ready, mon Colonel," LeBeau interrupted.

"Thanks, LeBeau." Hogan poured a cup of coffee and sipped it slowly, savoring the full-bodied flavor and aroma. "Kinch, radio London tonight, see when our other supplies are coming."

"Sure, sir."

The men all chattered and exchanged stories. Hogan caught more than a few glances at the normally garroulous Newkirk who appeared deep in his book. When night came, Kinch headed down into the tunnels. "Newkirk, how is the uniform situation?"

Newkirk didn't look up. "All fine and up to date, gov. All clean."

"Are you sure?"

Newkirk looked up, lips tightening. "Yes, sir, I'm sure. But I'll check."

He jumped off the bunk and went down into the tunnels. Hogan sighed and followed. Kinch met him at the radio room. "Supplies will here in three nights," Kinch said. "Tomorrow night there is a bombing run scheduled for 0100 hours."

"All right, we'll go out. Newkirk, LeBeau, and I. Carter and you hold the fort here."

Kinch nodded.

Newkirk walked over. "All fine, sir." He glanced at Kinch. "Do we finally have something to do?"

"Bombing run," Kinch said.

"You, LeBeau, and myself," Hogan said. Newkirk grinned, eyes lighting.

"'Bout ruddy time. Been going daft locked up in here."

Hogan smiled. _Maybe he just needs to get out. _


	8. Chapter 8

The next night, LeBeau, Hogan, and Newkirk brought back ten crewmembers from two downed planes. "Hiya, Colonel," Carter said. "Full house tonight."

"We can't thank you enough." A lanky Sergeant gulped a glass of water Kinch offered.

"Welcome to our humble abode." Hogan wiped his face clear of greasepaint.

The tunnel filled with chatter. Hogan talked with the Lieutenant while the "guests" were fed and bunks readied. "We were bombing a factory near Dusseldorf," Lt. Scopes said. "Got the target but got hit on the way back. The Germans have some new anti-aircraft guns."

"Really? We didn't hear anything." Hogan glanced at Kinch who shook his head.

"They're damn good. There are only a few of them that we know of. Tore apart a British squadron a week ago over Hammelburg. The squadron got their target. Unfortunately, they lost three planes. Would have lost more but their crazy leader drove his plane directly into one of the guns. Suicide but the rest of the squadron got home."

Hogan winced. "Ouch."

"Danvers always was a little half-baked but he saved his men."

"Wesley Danvers?"

The Lieutenant nodded. "Shame. He was a decent guy. Not stuck up like some of the Brits."

A wave of anger and dismay rolled through Hogan. He'd liked the Flight Lieutenant. He told the men to relax and headed upstairs. Kinch followed him. "Sorry, Colonel," he said quietly.

"Thanks, Kinch. Let me tell the others, huh?"

"Sure, sir."

After roll call, Hogan called his command crew into his quarters. "We need to find out more about these anti-aircraft guns," he said. He explained what Scopes had said. "The Hammelburg guns are damaged. Unfortunately, four planes were lost as well. Flight Lieutenant Danvers drove his plane into the guns to save his squadron."

"He ruddy what?!" Newkirk blurted.

"Drove his plane into the guns?' Carter echoed. "But that's crazy! Sir."

"Pilots," LeBeau murmured, admiration in his voice.

"I'm sorry," Hogan said. "We'll have to get to Hammelburg."

"'Ow?" Newkirk asked.

"Not sure yet. Let me think on this awhile."

The men nodded and left. Newkirk walked outside, kicking the frozen dirt. "Newkirk?"

"What is it, Carter?"

"Sorry about Danvers," Carter said. "I mean, I know you were friends."

"I barely knew him," Newkirk replied. "He was here two months ago for a week or so. That's it."

"But you liked him. You talked to him." Newkirk nodded. "So I'm sorry."

"Thanks, Andrew."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"What's been bugging you? You just haven't been yourself lately."

"Ever had something you just can't talk about, Carter? Thoughts you just can't mention?"

Carter frowned. "Sometimes," he said slowly. "But I pretty much tell you guys everything. You're my best friends."

"And what would you do if you found out horrifying about one of us?"

"Like what?"

"Like one of us was, I don't know, diseased or something? Or a bank robber?"

Carter's brows drew together. "I would listen. And heck, Newkirk, I think you've more than made up for any bank robbery. I can't think of really anything you could tell me that would make me mad."

Newkirk's lips quirked. "Thanks, Andrew."

"So what is it?'

"Nothing special, mate. It has nothing to do with anyone here, all right?"

"Problems at home?"

"You could say that. Don't worry. I'll be ruddy fine."

"You sure?"

"I am. Just relax, mate." Carter frowned. He dropped an arm around Newkirk's shoulders, hugged the shorter man roughly. Newkirk froze for a moment then laughed softly.

"Thanks."

"Well, well, look at the girls," a coarse voice chuckled.

Carter rolled his eyes. "Lay off, Trenton," he said. "Newkirk, no!"

Newkirk pounced on Trenton, drilling his fists into Trenton's jaw. Carter grabbed Newkirk's arm, trying to drag him off Trenton. Another pair of hands joined his. Baker helped Carter pull Newkirk off and Kinch hauled Trenton back. "What is going on?" Kinch demanded.

Trenton ran his hand across his face. Blood dripped down his chin. "Newkirk just went crazy," he spat.

"Newkirk?" Kinch asked.

"What?"

"Do you want to explain?"

"Trenton should keep his mouth shut."

Kinch glared at him. "That's not an explanation."

Newkirk sighed. "He ran his mouth. I stopped it."

"Get out of here," Kinch snapped at the men surronding them. "Baker, take Trenton to the barracks."

"Sure," Baker said. "Come on, Trenton."

"What about Newkirk?"

"Kinch can take care of him."

Kinch looked at Newkirk. "Come on, Newkirk." He dragged the smaller man to a corner. "Leave us, Carter."

"But Kinch..."

"Carter, go," Kinch said.

Alone, Kinch and Newkirk eyed each other. Kinch noted the dark circles around Newkirk's eyes, a kind of hollowness in his face. "I have no idea what's been bothering you," Kinch slowly said. "I'd like to help."

"There's nothing wrong, Kinch. Trenton's been a ruddy loud mouth since he came here. I got sick of it."

"That's not it."

"Glad to know you're a mind reader, mate. You have a career after the war."

"Damn it, Peter! We want to help!"

Newkirk gave a great sigh. "You wouldn't understand." He leaned back against the wall. "Just a little stir crazy."

"We could help. The Colonel doesn't even have to know if you don't want."

"Let me think on it a bit, Kinch, all right? Sorry I lost my head."

Kinch frowned. "All right."

"Thanks."

Newkirk walked away, shoulders hunched. Kinch shook his head and went looking for Carter.

_Did he do it because he was saving his men or because he didn't want to live on without Wilcox? I mean, it's damn hard to lose anyone and he couldn't really tell a lot of people. Is that how we end up? Killing ourselves because it's bloody easier? There's got to be more than this constant solitude. Here I am, surronded by over 500 other men, and I am ruddy alone. That dustup with Trenton was stupid. Wanker should have been beat down long before this., though. Racist, nationalistic arse. Don't know why the gov hasn't tranferred him._


	9. Chapter 9

The aroma of warm biscuits made Newkirk turn. "I have cookies," LeBeau said. Newkirk grinned.

"Thanks, mate." He snagged two and ate them slowly. "You 'ave the touch, Louie."

"Merci. Carter mentioned you hit Trenton." LeBeau sat on one of the benches outside the barracks. "You best pray Colonel Hogan does not find out."

"Are you saying Trenton doesn't deserve it?"

"I am saying you are a hot headed fool, mon ami. Trenton always makes the comments of an idiot. So why are you so angry now?"

Newkirk shrugged. LeBeau studied him carefully. "We have known each other a long time, Pierre. Before Carter, before mon Colonel, even before Kinchloe, we were here."

"I remember."

"So what has been making you so twitchy?"

"Louis, mate, really, it's nothing."

"You have been going crazy for almost two months and it is nothing?"

"Stir crazy, that's all."

"And soon, soon it will be winter."

"It's not winter now?"

LeBeau snorted. "It is barely November. We have a long winter ahead, Newkirk. What will you do when the snow is taller than moi?"

"It'll only be to my knees," Newkirk jested. LeBeau flushed and Newkirk punched his shoulder lightly. "Just joshing you, LeBeau. We'll keep busy."

"You are restless, nervous. You remind me of alion in a cage. And if it is nothing, why not tell me?"

"Because no one can fix it, Louie. It just is something I have to deal with," Newkirk patiently said. "I appreciate your offer, I do, but please believe me, I am fine." LeBeau stiffened and spat out furious French. Newkirk blinked. "I don't bleeding understand!"

"You are not **fine**! You are tres imbecile! We can help you. Mon Colonel, Carter, Kinch, moi--we are your freres, your family! Are you that selfish? Is all you think about is yourself?!"

Newkirk jerked as LeBeau stomped away. _I have to think of myself, you idiot! I already am oogling someone I can't ruddy ever have and frankly, I don't want to know what you'll do to me if you find out what I am, what I'm thinking! I'm a bleeding monster, damn it!_

The next few weeks turned into a living hell for Newkirk, reminding him of the whole painful Gretel incident. LeBeau shunned him, Kinch watched him, and Colonel Hogan basically ignored him save for curt orders. Despite the success of getting the downed airmen home, the Hammelburg anti aircraft guns were still in operation and the Colonel dwelled on them continually. Visits from Burkhalter and Hochstetter only darkened his mood. Only Carter seemed unchanged and he was constantly in the lab. Newkirk found himself slipping into the tunnels nightly, pacing and fretting before falling into a guest bunk for a few hours of exhausted sleep. As the American prisoners prepared to celebrate Thanksgiving a` la LeBeau, Newkirk volunteered for radio duty. _Anything_ to avoid LeBeau's frostiness and the others' coldness. Kinch gratefully accepted.

"Not like it's a real holiday anyway, mate." He grinned and Kinch laughed.

Alone in the radio room, he slid on the headset and pulled a book from his pocket. Mueller of the guards had a vast paperback collection and he left them out for all the guards. Newkirk frequently nicked one to read when bored. While reading German was difficult, he was getting better. It was a distraction, something to occupy his mind. Unknowingly, he was also tremendously increasing his German literacy.

After an hour or so, he smelled turkey and potatoes. He turned to find Colonel Hogan coming into the room with a covered plate. "What are you doing down here, Colonel?"

"Thought you might be hungry."

"Not my holiday, mate. Enjoy yourself."

"It's a holiday for all of us. Eat." Colonel Hogan grabbed a chair and sat.

Newkirk smiled. "Thanks." He ate while Colonel Hogan flipped through the book.

"How is it?"

"Not bad."

"Mueller know you're reading these?"

Newkirk stared at his Colonel. "No. I ruddy didn't think it'd be smart to let the Krauts know I know a little German."

"How are you at it?"

"I'm all right." Newkirk set down his plate. "That was great." Hogan nodded, studying him. Newkirk twitched then put a calm face on. "Anything else, gov?"

"I've let you stew for a while now," Hogan slowly started. "I'd hoped you would actually chew your problems, whatever they are, to death. I frankly was sure you'd tell someone something."

"I don't understand."

Hogan snorted. "Yes, you do. You've been fretting for far too long, Newkirk. I don't know what it is that is tormenting you so much but frankly, it's getting old and worrisome."

"I do my job, mate!"

Hogan held up a hand. "I didn't say you didn't. But it starting to affect everyone. So now I have to know. What is the problem? If it makes it easier, I can make it an order."

"I have a personal issue. Nothing you can help with, Colonel."

"What is it?"

"It's personal. I haven't been neglecting anything, so what's the big deal?"

"Because it's affecting you. And it throws you off. I need all of us together on this. I can't have your mind wandering."

"Colonel, I can handle my own life."

"You told LeBeau no one could fix it. What's broken?"

Newkirk felt the blood drain from his face. He looked at the radio set. For a long time he was silent. Colonel Hogan watched him, equally still. Newkirk knew his Colonel could outstubborn a mule. "You remember Danvers?" he asked at last.

"Of course."

"What if he flew that plane into the guns for a reason?"

"He did. To save his men."

"Maybe. What if he had another reason?"

Hogan tilted his head. "Like what?"

"Save his men, take out the guns." Newkirk fiddled with the head set. "And take out himself."

Hogan jerked. "Suicide?"  
"Kind of. I mean, he wouldn't just off himself but if he could go out in a blaze of glory, doing good at the same time, he might just grab the chance."

"Why?"

"His--lover had recently died." Newkirk watched Hogan from the corner of his eye.

"Was she in London?"

Newkirk gritted his teeth. This was the problem with ruddy officers, you had to _explain_ everything. "No," he bluntly said. "It was Wilcox."

Hogan jerked, eyes widening. "Well, that's--unusual," he said at last. "And you, ah know this..."

"Wilcox died in his arms, Colonel. He was lucid, in agony. Danvers comforted him."

Hogan nodded, eyes downcast. "That must have been hard," he said softly.

"Having your lover die in pain, knowing you were the pilot, not to mention 'aving all witnessed by a stranger, someone who now knows a ruddy secret that can ruin you. More than hard, mate. It's why he was so bleedin' quiet. He lost the only person who understood him." Newkirk lifted his head and stared at his Colonel. "He was a good man, no matter what you think, sir."

"Calm down, Newkirk. I never said he wasn't. So this bothers you?"

"He was a homosexual, gov. It's not new to me."

"So what does this have to do with you?"

Newkirk sighed, a huge exhalation that rippled through his whole body. "Forget it, gov," he quietly said. "I just--I kind of understand why he did it." Hogan gazed at him with bright, discerning eyes. Newkirk ran his fingers over the paperback novel, absently tracing the writing on the cover. "I lied to him," Newkirk eventually said, voice low. "I said it was his fault, that I hadn't dreamed, hadn't felt the way I feel until he came. Actually it has been going on a lot longer. Danvers just brought it all to a boil." Hogan rested a hand on Newkirk's shoulder, squeezed gently. Newkirk shivered and stared at the radio, willing it to come to life. "You asked what was broken. I am. That's it."

"So are you saying..."

"Yes," Newkirk interrupted. Hogan removed his hand and Newkirk's stomach dropped.

"Peter, have you been with a woman?"

Newkirk twisted to stare his commanding officer in the eye. "I'm not ruddy Carter, mate! No, I'm not a virgin. Been with several ladies, thank you. It's just...it's like dancing. It's fun."

"Fun is good," Hogan neutrally said. "Newkirk, a lot of the men here, um, get together..."

"It's not like that!" Newkirk glared. "That's just sex, physical relief. This is caring and bleedin' _feelings_ and thinking. Do you understand the difference? It's knowing you're some freak when everyone else is normal! Now do you understand why I bloody wanted to be left alone?"

"Peter, it's all right."

"Easy enough for you. Not a bird around that doesn't like you. You don't have this peculiarity. Bad enough I'm a poof but caring for someone I can't bleedin' touch or even tell..." Newkirk trailed off. "I'll pack my stuff tomorrow then, gov."

"Are you going somewhere?"

"You want to keep me hanging around?"

Hogan gazed at Newkirk with a faint smile. "It doesn't affect your skills."

"It's not normal."

"No one is normal, Newkirk." Newkirk tilted his head. Hogan smiled slowly. "I'm not saying you should say anything. After all, both our armies disapprove. But I have run across this before. It happens."

"You're--not going to court martial me?"

"That depends. Do you plan on disobeying direct orders again?"

"Only if it'll save your life."

"I don't plan on court martialing you. Certainly not for being you. By the way, don't use poof. It's a degrading word."

"It's what I am."

"I don't like it." Hogan's eyes gleamed. "It's the same as nigger, kike, mick, and dago."

"All right," Newkirk said, inwardly baffled.

"So this is between you and I, then. I wouldn't mention it to the others."

"Really?" Newkirk asked. "I shouldn't tell Kinch, who is deeply religious in a lot of ways, or Carter, who has barely kissed a girl? And LeBeau, who is still ruddy ticked at me?"

Hogan smiled. "I'll talk to LeBeau. They're simply worried."

"This doesn't fix anything, gov. I'm still me."

"It's a step. Anything else?"

"Isn't that enough?"

Hogan chortled. "Get me if someone calls." He looked down at Newkirk. "It'll be all right, Peter." He squeezed Newkirk's shoulder again and stood up. "Just who are you smitten with?"

"No," Newkirk said. "I deserve to keep something to myself, gov. It's never ruddy going to happen and I know that. I still am entitled to a little privacy."

Hogan nodded slowly. "You're right. Yet, he might be flattered."

"He might kill me. No. Being a friend is better than nothing."

"Does he outrank you?'

"Doesn't everyone?"

Hogan laughed. "All right then. Good night, Peter."

"Good night, sir." Newkirk swallowed hard. "And thank you."

"You're welcome. Get some rest tonight. Baker should relieve you."

"I will." Newkirk watched Hogan leave. "Sweet dreams," he whispered.


End file.
